


family

by bukkunmoonsin (bukkunkun)



Series: The X-Men AU No One Asked For [7]
Category: Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Gen, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5215031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunmoonsin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in Col. Paco Roman’s life was never easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	family

**Author's Note:**

> [original post here](http://bukkun-moonsin.tumblr.com/post/131752528118/family).

A day in Col. Paco Roman’s life was never easy.

Dawn. He was always one of the first to rise, and would sometimes be the one to rouse Luna from fitful sleep. If he ever managed to sleep, anyway.

Paco would get the aidesup to prepare breakfast, and then go through waking the other officials on camp.

Manuel always came first. Sometimes he was already awake when Paco came to see him, already building new wood walls to fortify their camp’s defences, or growing more lavender for the  _Cruz Roja._ When Paco made it to him asleep, he was always very still, like a log, and would sometimes be surrounded by tiny flowers he unconsciously grew in his sleep. When that happens, Paco would simply smile and pick a few to put in the empty bottle of water Manuel had on the table between his and his brother’s beds.

José came next, the harder one of the two to wake up, partly because of how deep a sleeper he was, mostly because surprising him out of sleep spelled burnt clothes first thing in the morning. In fact, most of the time, Paco simply ends up asking Manuel to wake José up for him.

The elder brother had his own  _style,_ developed from years of living and growing with him. Manuel would tickle his feet with grass flowers, or wake him gently with the scent of  _dama de noche_ flowers. It depended on how well Manuel slept, but José waking up was always funny enough to get Paco to stay and watch.

When José was up, Paco heads to where Joven slept. It was rather easy to wake Joven up–all it took was a simple shake, and a gently murmured, “Joven, it’s morning,” and the young man would rouse from slumber with a child-like yawn and morning stretch. He would blink blearily at Paco, who would smile at him gently before looking for his glasses—always set down somewhere new—as Joven yawned and rubbed his eyes.

He would hand Joven his glasses with a smile and he would receive a sleepy one in return.

“Good morning.” Joven would still be blinking sleep out of his eyes, and Paco chuckled fondly.

“Good morning. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Ah, thank you.” Joven fought a yawn, and lost. “I’ll be right out.”

It would always be like that with Joven.

Paco would then head to the one hardest to wake up in the morning.

“Rusca.”

As always, Rusca would be practically eagle-spread with his mouth wide open. His thin blanket would be on the floor and his bed, a mess, from how frisky he was when asleep.

The only thing neat in his room would be his uniform, pressed to perfection and folded neatly, set aside on a nearby table. That always made Paco smile.

It would take him five whole minutes of attempting to wake Rusca up with praceful means. Sometimes that was all it took, sometimes, it was hardly enough. Those mornings were always after a particularly violent battle.

Paco always felt bad about waking Rusca up violently, considering how tired he must have been after those exceptionally tough skirmishes. With how much Luna needed Rusca to be running—nearly  _all the time—_ during those battles, Rusca was the one most tired out of all of them. He always wanted to leave Rusca to rest, but they were at war, and war always meant there would never be a moment of rest.

He pours water over Rusca’s face, sometimes, but if that didn’t work, he pinches the young man’s nose. He ends up with something missing between his fingers and the scent of burning rubber.

The sound of yelling soldiers follow suit and so does the sound of José’s raucous donkey laughter.

The last person Paco goes to wake up is Luna.

Of all of them, Luna needed it the most.

He would enter the man’s hut to find him already awake, most of the time, already poring over their plans and tactics. It was rare to catch him still asleep, but when he did, Paco would take a seat next to the man, and patiently wait for him to rouse.

Luna would scold him lightly whenever he did that, but he knew the man was grateful for his concern.

The rest of the day was spent trying not to die on the frontlines, and worrying too much about Luna, and struggling with being human in the company of  _Mapalad_ , and worrying about their camp’s defences and how Manuel was holding it up, and thinking about home, and sometimes fearing José’s power—

At the end of the day, Joven would pass him his journal, where there was always something new inside. A short essay, a small poem, and the young man would smile at him so kindly, it made Paco’s weight that much lighter.

He had a family here in the frontlines. Sure, it was messy, and bloody, and _terrible_ , but they were all they had with each other.

It was those small things, Paco thinks, as Rusca slings an arm around his shoulder as he boisterously laughs and tells another mishap of his to their circle—Manuel, coolly smiling and fiddling with wood he grew absently, José, already delightedly laughing, Luna, chuckling softly, and Joven, doing his darnedest to keep up with Rusca’s antics.

Paco laughs.

Yes, he thought. This wasn’t home, but  _this_  was  _family_.


End file.
